


The Flat Across The Street

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Neighbours AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2454038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by an AU prompt from tumblr: “We live in halls opposite each other and I keep seeing you changing through your window.” As I was writing it I realised that something very similar happened in “Partners In Crime” with Donna :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flat Across The Street

The first time it happened, Rose was attempting to get the jamb of her old, creaky, needs-to-be-replaced single-hung vertical-slider window to cooperate and allow the dratted thing to close properly. It was late October and starting to get cold in the evenings.  
  
The sun had begun to set and Rose was trying to settle into a quiet night in front of the telly with chips and a glass of wine after a long day at work.  
  
A loud bleeping honk from a moving truck on the street below startled her and her arm slipped, elbow slamming against the window sill painfully. Rose yelped and cursed, catching the attention of a bloke standing on the curb. Rose hadn’t noticed him because he had been standing behind the truck, and she didn’t notice him now because her eyes were watering from her smarting arm.  
  
He squinted, shrugged, and went into the building across the street. A minute later the lights of the window of the flat directly opposite Rose’s own came on. Rubbing her sore elbow, Rose slumped against her window sill and resigned herself to a chilly night. Where were her extra covers? Did she have extra covers?  
  
Someone started moving about in the flat across the street. A pair of arms set a box down by the window. The person bent to open the box, rummaged inside it, and then straightened up. He was tall, skinny, and held a potted cactus in each hand.  
  
 _Oh, he’s kinda fit, isn’t he?_ She thought idly, resting her chin on her palm with a sigh. He had turned and disappeared into the depths of the room and Rose caught sight of a rather nice bum in a pair of well-fitting jeans. She liked a nice bum.  
  
Perking up, Rose indulged her nosy side and watched the man move about, unpacking things. He must be in his bedroom, she thought, eyeing the window plants. Her theory was confirmed when he unpacked a pair of pillows and threw them onto what she imagined must be his bed, in the corner of the room that she couldn’t see. He disappeared then, for so long that Rose thought he probably wasn’t coming back.  
  
But suddenly he was back, and unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it to the floor. Right in front of his window, which had no curtains. He pulled his long-sleeved tee-shirt over his head, revealing a lean torso covered in sparse, dark hair. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body. Lean as a whip.  
  
Then he undid his belt and pulled the leather end free of the buckle. His hand lowered the zip of his trousers and he began pushing them down, along with his pants, and- _oh my god!_  
  
Rose let loose a little shriek as she realised what she was doing. She whirled around, pressing herself to the wall next to the window, eyes wide.  
  
She was watching her new neighbour _undress_ through the window of his flat.  
  
She was watching a strange man _undress_ without his knowledge.  
  
With burning cheeks and a guilty weight in her stomach, Rose turned away and went about with the rest of her evening, trying to put the incident out of her mind.  
  
*  
  
The second time it happened, two weeks later, Rose didn’t have an excuse for not looking away. She had been careful not to look out her window, on purpose, as stupid as that was. It was her window. She was allowed to look.   
  
Some men, as she discovered, slept in the nude.  
  
*  
  
The third time, it wasn’t even Rose.  
  
"Did you know you can see right into the flat across the street from your bedroom window?" Shareen grinned from ear to ear. "Oh my god, Rose. The bloke who lives there doesn’t have curtains. He just came out of the shower, starkers! Got an eyeful, but I’m not complaining!"  
  
Rose willed herself not to blush, or stammer, and she herded Shareen out of the flat as quickly as she could, muttering, “He just moved in, he probably just hasn’t got around to putting up curtains. And stop spying on my neighbours!”  
  
  
*  
  
The fourth time, he noticed.  
  
He had a habit of undressing by the window before showering, and of towelling his hair dry by the window as well, usually clad in only his towel or a pair of pants. Rose usually avoided the window at night, knowing full well she might be treated to a show at any given time.  
  
His lights were off, so she figured she was safe. She’d finished her six months probation at work, and was finally able to stop holding her breath, knowing her job was secure. She’d celebrated with girlfriends and was in a great mood, boosted by the tub of truly well-deserved chocolate chip full-fat ice cream and the 90’s pop tunes she was dancing to.   
  
She was doing a _very_ impressive moon-walk across the carpeting when she noticed the lights coming on out of the corner of her eye.   
  
The fellow over there seemed to have had a good day, as well. His hair was standing on end, a rather attractive look on him, and he was doing the sort of dancing that blokes who don’t quite have full control over their limbs do.   
  
He happened to look over, and what happened next was probably one of the oddest things to have ever happened to Rose.   
  
He went on dancing, unfazed, a grin breaking over his face.   
  
He _waved_.  
  
And god knows why, but Rose… well, Rose waved back.  
  
*  
  
The fifth time, _he_ saw _her_.  
  
She’d indulged in a lazy sunday morning lie in and didn’t budge from bed until well after noon. It was extremely decadent and made Rose feel both guilty and relaxed. She followed it up with a long, hot, scented soak in the bath, only emerging when her skin was wrinkled past the point of endurance.   
  
As it was mid-afternoon by then and she had no guests, no boyfriend, no little brother spending the weekend with his doting older sister, Rose felt no compunction at wandering about her flat naked. She started with a towel wrapped loosely around herself but when it came loose and fell to the floor in her bedroom, she let it stay there. The heating in the building was overzealous, even for a freezing January, so she was perfectly comfortable.  
  
Until she happened to drop the bottle of red nail varnish she was planning to use on her toes and bent down to pick it off the carpeting. When she straightened back up, her eyes wandered to the window.   
  
Her shocked gaze met the equally shocked gaze of the man across the street, who was standing by his own curtain-less window, mouth agape, his mobile phone pressed to his ear.   
  
*  
  
When Rose got home from work the next night the window across the street was covered by grey curtains. She rubbed her eyes wearily and sat on the foot of her bed. This should have happened ages ago.   
  
Then something odd ocurred. Rose frowned and moved to her own window, watching as the lights blinked on and off in her neighbour’s flat. She wondered if he was having electrical problems, but the windows of the flats on either side of him seemed to indicate that everything was normal.  
  
Suddenly the curtains were yanked aside, and he appeared, holding up a piece of paper. It said, in capital letters, _SORRY_.  
  
Rose stared. He dropped the sheet and lifted another one for her to read. _ACCIDENT._  
  
Then a third one. _NEVER AGAIN._  
  
Lastly, _FORGIVE ME._  
  
Rose scrambled into her living room and returned with a marker and newspaper in hand. She didn’t have any blank paper lying around, and hoped he’d be able to read her hastily scribbled response.  
  
 _SAW YOU NAKED ONCE. WE’RE EVEN._  
  
Even with thirty feet of space and glass and street noises between them, Rose fancied she could hear his surprised laugh.  
  
*  
  
A hundred nights later, or so it seemed, Rose sat on a chair she’d pulled up to the window with a glass of wine. Her neighbour popped into sight at his window and did a spin, arms spread out. He was wearing a pair of dark trousers and a grey shirt. It made him look pale, paler than he was.  
  
When she’d looked out her window earlier that evening, he’d posted the words _HELP ME CHOOSE_ on his glass pane in big red letters.  
  
She shook her head and waved him off.  
  
He disappeared and re-emerged, this time in a dark blue shirt.  
  
 _Better_ , she thought, and gave a vague _so-so_ motion of the hand.  
  
He tried on five more shirts and a pinstriped suit which looked way better on him than it ought to have had before the private fashion show was interrupted.  
  
A woman, a redhead, curvy and _loud_ , from the way he took a step back, entered the room. Rose froze, glass halfway to her lips. She watched as he negotiated with the woman, cajoled her, threw his arm around her shoulders. She felt like a voyeur, suddenly, though technically it was this woman who had interrupted their… whatever it was they’d been doing.  
  
Over the top of the woman’s head, he looked out of his window and directly at Rose. He shook his head apologetically. She smiled and nodded, lifted a hand and gave a little wave - a goodbye, permission to abort, abandon. Draining her glass, Rose went to bed.  
  
*  
  
For the first time in months, Rose was going to go on a date.  
  
"Pick you up at eight?"  
  
"Brilliant."  
  
Somehow, without really knowing how, Rose knew he was there. He was looking. She straightened up and smoothed the fabric of her dress across her belly, shoulders thrown back.  
  
He was leaning against the window with one shoulder, eyebrows raised.  
  
 _Date_ , she mouthed, and gestured with a broad sweep of her hands over her entire body. _What do you think?_  
  
He paused, and then gave her a thumbs up, winking.  
  
The doorbell rang, and Rose hurried to open it, her cheeks flushed. She greeted her date with a grin and a bounce in her step.  
  
*  
  
It was Valentine’s day. Over the phone, Rose told the man she had been seeing for several weeks that it wasn’t working out. Despite his token protests, she sensed that he was relieved.  
  
 _Chips and wine, story of my life._  
  
Across the street, her neighbour was putting on a suit. The suit. The pinstriped one, the one that made him look ridiculously handsome. He was going on a date, she realised. Of course he was. It was Valentine’s day. He’d bought his girlfriend a flower - a single red rose.  
  
She pointed at the rose in his hand and then pointed at herself.  
  
He cocked his head.  
  
She repeated the gesture. He furrowed his brows, and then shrugged, as if to say _sorry, can’t_.  
  
 _No, no_ , she mouthed, shaking her head. He thought she was asking if the flowers were for her. Or that she wanted him to give them to her. (Not that she would exactly mind it if the latter were to happen, but she didn’t think it would.)  
  
Clasping the edge of her floral curtain, which had, yes, embroidered roses scattered across it, Rose pointed at the print and at herself again.  
  
 _Huh?_  
  
She sighed and gave up with a laugh. Rose leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together, tilting her head against them shutting her eyes, silently indicating that she was going to go to bed.  
  
Across the street, he stretched his arms out, formed a circle with them, as though offering a hug. Rose echoed the gesture and wondered what it would feel like to be in his embrace.  
  
 _Have a good time_ , she mouthed, and for once she was glad they could not hear each other speak. She wouldn’t have liked for him to hear the sound of her voice, just then.  
  
*  
  
A couple of weeks later, Rose found herself staring, slightly open-mouthed, at the sight of her gorgeous neighbour in a full-on tuxedo outfit. He struck a James Bond pose for her benefit, eyes dancing, and Rose couldn’t help but laugh.  
  
He mimed giving a toast and tossing back what had to be a flute of champagne. And then proceeded to roll his eyes theatrically and pretended to waltz across the room with an imaginary partner. Coming back to the window, he faked wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with an invisible handkerchief as Rose giggled.  
  
 _A wedding._ He was going to a wedding. That explained the cummerbund. Rose tapped on her window to get his attention. She didn’t know if he’d be able to hear it, but he caught her movement out of the corner of his eye. He tilted his head - _yes?_  
  
 _Remove the sash_ , she mouthed, pretending to tear an imaginary belt off her own waist. He was wearing it upside down. The pleats ought to be facing upwards, and worn slightly lower to cover the waistband of his trousers.  
  
He looked confused. She tried to signal _turn it the other way_ but ended up making a weird sort of steering wheel motion that only confused him further. This wasn’t going to work.  
  
He lifted two fingers. A peace sign? Rose returned the gesture, out of friendly spirit. He grinned and did it again, and then lifted three. Then six. Then just his pointer finger. Then two again.  
  
She was extremely confused until he mimed holding a phone to his ear and she realised he was trying to give her his _phone_ number. Rose held up her hand, in a _STOP_ motion. He paused, hands slowly falling to his sides. Rose dashed off into her bedroom and hurried back with her mobile, holding it aloft in one hand. She beckoned with the other - _one more time._  
  
"Hello," she said as soon as he picked up.  
  
"Hello," he replied. She had never thought about what his voice would sound like, not really, but hearing it for the first time made her think _yes, this is your voice. This is what you sound like. Exactly this._  
  
"It’s upside down," she told him with a laugh. "The pleats should be facing up."  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"Meant to catch crumbs, you still hear people calling them crumb-catchers sometimes. Or hold opera tickets. Or phone numbers written on bits of napkins from drunk bridesmaids, I expect."  
  
He laughed and the sound rolled around in Rose’s belly, warming her. “Oh, I don’t think so. It’s my cousin’s wedding, and Donna has deliberately chosen all of her very worst friends to be in the wedding party. I’m not sure who she’s punishing, but I’m definitely not intending to collect any numbers.” He paused. “How do you know so much about cummerbunds, if I might ask?”  
  
"I’m a buyer at Henrik’s," she explained.  
  
They chatted a little bit longer, about nothing, about everything. A friendly chat, between neighbours who had known each other for months. He was lovely and charming and made her laugh, and Rose thought, _yes, this is exactly how I thought you’d be._  
  
When finally, she could no longer hold back her yawns and heavy eyelids, he wound the conversation to a close.  
  
"Goodnight, Rose," he said, the sound of his voice saying her name sending flutters through her chest. He’d got it, after all. "My name is John, by the way, since we never said. Bit backwards, aren’t we? Lovely talking to you."  
  
*  
  
They didn’t speak on the phone all that much, despite those initial lovely hours of chatting. Instead they texted each other repeatedly, an absurd amount, as though they were teenagers.  
  
 _You look tired._ -J.  
  
 _I am tired. How was the wedding?_   -R.  
  
 _Bloody awful. Never seen Donna so happy, so it was worth it._ -J.  
  
 _Collect any numbers?_ -R.  
  
 _From the bridesmaids? Nope, thankfully not._ -J.  
  
His feisty date probably wouldn’t have liked it.  
  
 _Does yours count?_ -J.  
  
*  
  
 _You should really close your curtains at night. Never know who might be watching_. - J.  
  
 _You mean you?_ \- R.  
  
 _I’m the exception._ -J.  
  
 _Aren’t I?_ \- J.  
  
 _I just like waking up with the sun shining on my face._ \- R.   
  
_You live in London, Rose Tyler._ -J.  
  
 _So?_ -R.  
  
*  
  
 _I’m going on a business trip._ \- J.  
  
 _Where?_ \- R.  
  
 _America! For a week or so_. - J.  
  
 _What do you do, anyway?_ \- R.  
  
 _I’m a Doctor._ -J.  
  
 _Really?_ \- R.  
  
 _Not the medical kind. Astrophysics. I’m going to a seminar in Boston. Don’t have a roaming mobile plan, I’m afraid…_ -J.  
  
 _That’s alright. I’ll see you later. -_ R.  
  
 _Not if I see you first._ -J.  
  
*  
  
12:04 AM, message not sent: _I miss you._  
  
1:15 AM, message not sent: _Boston is horrible. I wish you were here._  
  
1:26 AM, message not sent: _I hope you’re not on a date._  
  
*  
  
It felt like the longest week of her life.  
  
*  
  
Rose hovered by the window, just out of sight, not wanting to seem like she was doing what she was doing: waiting for Doctor John Smith to make an appearance. Since receiving his text ( _I’m back!_ ) well over an hour ago, she’d been unable to do anything except pace about her flat, aimlessly.   
  
The doorbell rang. Rose frowned and went to answer, hoping it was someone she could send away quickly.   
  
"Hi," said John.   
  
Rose found herself unable to speak.   
  
"Sorry for dropping in like this," he said, not looking sorry in the least. He smiled at her.   
  
"How’d you know which flat was mine?" Rose asked, a bit breathless.  
  
"Fourth window from the left, three floors up. This building’s old, the main floor isn’t numbered, it’s just G. Which means second floor on the elevator. The end unit isn’t a rental, so you’re 203. Basic math."  
  
"Oh," was all she could manage to say. "That’s… very clever of you."  
  
"I pay attention," he said simply.  
  
"Do you have a girlfriend?" She blurted out, fingers digging into the door.  
  
"No," he replied, his voice even. "I do not."  
  
"Are you sure? Doesn’t she have red hair and- oh!"  
  
He had stepped into the room, slid his arm around her waist and bent his head to hears. A hand threaded itself into her hair and brought her lips to his own. Rose was initially stiff from shock, but the good Doctor continued undeterred, pressing his mouth persuasively against hers, coaxing her lips apart. She gasped, slightly, and he gained entrance.  
  
He kissed her until she was breathless, a boneless, pleasure-ridden puddle ready to melt into the floor.  
  
"I missed you," he said warmly, his hands sliding up her back. "Did you miss me?"  
  
Rose grabbed him by the shirt collar and brought his head back down to hers, answering the question in a most deliberate manner. She pulled free and walked backwards into the dark living room, leaving him dazed in the entrance.  
  
"Close the door behind you," she said. "I’ll close the curtains."  
  
*


End file.
